


Of the Charade

by NebulousMistress



Series: The Red Book [9]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms
Genre: Episode: s04e02 Lifeline, Episode: s04e03 Reunion, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 06:28:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12882096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebulousMistress/pseuds/NebulousMistress
Summary: Atlantis is a mess. The city's power systems are damaged from transit, Dr. Weir is presumed worse than dead, Dr. McKay went AWOL, and nobody in Pegasus knows where they are.





	1. Elves

**Author's Note:**

> The Red Book has caused a few changes in canon, little things, that caused large events. Carson got his fishing trip on Scrinia and never died, now Keller isn't Head of Medicine. Previous stories saw Rodney knocking up a barmaid and finding family dynamics in Pegasus are entirely different from what he's used to, now he has a wife and a husband and a child. O'Neill got annoyed at Atlantis for petty reasons and took 3 months to send the _Daedalus_ after the city's liberation from Replicators, as a result the entire command team of Atlantis went native for a while and never entirely recovered.
> 
> Little things.

The _Daedalus_ left Atlantis, her engines running hot across the Void. She was the faster ship, capable of making the Pegasus Run in 18 days under normal conditions versus the _Apollo's_ 27 days. If Caldwell pushed his engines hot to burnout he could potentially drop their expected crossing time to 13 days. It wouldn't bring them anywhere close to their ZPM-induced record of 4 days but it would put them under two weeks.

Ellis would stay behind with his ship and Atlantis. He couldn't order Caldwell to burn the _Daedalus's_ engines but he made it clear he expected just that.

Atlantis was a mess after the Replicator attack. Power conduits were shredded, requiring the complete shutdown of the ZPM system after landing. The city was on generator power, Zelenka was running, or rather limping, himself ragged to coordinate repairs.

Elizabeth was gone, missing and presumed dead. Or worse. The Replicators had her, it could easily be worse.

Rodney was gone, AWOL and presumed hiding out on Scrinia. Opinions differed as to what to do about this, from Zelenka's insistence he be dragged back forcibly for his own share of the repairs to Ellis's insistence his IDC be purged from the system and he be arrested for desertion.

Despite Ellis's greater rank, it was still Sheppard's city. What he said carried weight here, especially among the scientists and the Atlantis military. So he'd taken Ellis's demands for secrecy and his insistence the city stay isolated from the galaxy and immediately told Teyla New Lantea's address, trusting the Athosians to disseminate the information wisely.

As Teyla and Ronon walked through the gate Ellis scowled while Sheppard ignored him. Sheppard hadn't even bothered to hide his bias, telling her while Ellis watched.

“You made a mistake, Sheppard,” Ellis warned. “I wouldn't trust them.”

“You wouldn't,” Sheppard agreed. “And you would be wrong.”

Sheppard walked off, not deigning to listen to this Colonel of higher rank. Commanding a ship didn't mean Ellis had any idea how this galaxy worked. And now Ellis had woken the Replicators, angered McKay, and lost them Elizabeth.

This would not be forgotten.

*****

“SON OF A MOTHERFUCKING PIECE OF SHIT!”

The sound of a socket wrench being forcibly abused shrieked louder than the swearing. Then the sound of tortured metal ceased, morphing into the simpler sound of something heavy and steel being beaten against something equally heavy though not metallic.

“Zastavte mučení kovu!” Zelenka shouted down the shaft where below Dr. Stewart was supposed to be threading Ancient power cables, not beating pipes.

Stewart growled and shouted up the shaft. “Then get me an acetylene torch! The cables are fused!”

“We cannot use acetylene on these cables, they are too fragile!”

“FRAGILE MY ARSE!”

“Není nic křehký o tom zadek,” Zelenka muttered.

“I heard that!”

“You have no idea what I said!”

“Bite me!”

Zelenka groaned. Repairs were behind schedule, if the haphazard list of wishes and pleas were a 'schedule' at all. Major power conduits had been severed and that meant power had to be rerouted through all manner of secondary systems. Of course, many of those systems had shorted out during the initial reroute attempt and the cables had to be rethreaded. The cables themselves were a strange crystalline substance that only bent when it felt like it, or was sufficiently torqued until it gave. But that second option inevitably led to ruptured cabling, swearing, and the need to beat things with socket wrenches.

Stewart climbed the ladder out of the access shaft, salt crusted on her boots and clothes. Salt was a common problem below the water line, one that made most of the engineers cringe out of habit. Except Dr. Stoveck, he was still too giddy at the prospect of every one of his crystalline theories not just being proven right but seeing real application.

“I need an elf,” Stewart said.

Zelenka sighed. “You are taking things too seriously,” he said. “And ATA-active people are occupied elsewhere.”

“Yet you knew exactly what I meant,” Stewart said, grinning. “What's the occupation?”

The 'occupation' was apparently a problem with Atlantis's current senior staff, or lack thereof. Stewart cracked her knuckles, squared her shoulders, and stormed into Dr. Weir's office with what she felt was sufficient indignance.

It seemed to be enough. Not enough to make Colonel Sheppard care but it was enough to make Colonel Ellis jump and stare. Or maybe that was because she'd neglected shaving this week and had more facial hair than he did.

“I demand elves,” Stewart said. It took effort to keep a straight face as Ellis's confusion reached some impressive levels.

“How are repairs going?” Sheppard asked. “Has Zelenka stopped swearing yet?”

“There's been some outsourcing of the swearing,” Stewart admitted. “But repairs are, to be frank, shit. There's a six foot hole in the main power conduits, the backups are half-fused, Dr. Stoveck is busy designing replacement parts, and we need elves to convince the glass wires to fucking bend right before we end up breaking anything else important.”

“'Anything else' important?” Ellis asked.

“Three conduits, eight socket wrenches, four toes, and a finger. Middle one. Not mine.”

Ellis looked like he wanted to demand answers. Sheppard looked like he knew better. Stewart stroked her face, running her fingers over the scraggly mustache General O'Neill said she wasn't supposed to shave off.

“So you need elves,” Sheppard said. He wasn't fooling anyone, that stupid grin was right there hiding under the veneer of detached authority he still never managed.

“I can call them pointy-eared dandelion-eating poncy elves or I can call them Ancient-blooded demihuman ATA-active people,” Stewart said.

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Sheppard said.

“Be insulted after you sweet-talk the city into letting me lay cables, elf,” Stewart growled.

Sheppard took the opportunity to not be in charge. In fact, he convinced the city to close off Dr. Weir's office so no one could be in charge while he was gone, forcing Ellis out into the gateroom amidst muffled snickering and a distinct lack of respect.

There was something wrong with this city. Ellis took a deep breath and glared at the technicians around him. The gateroom was a fair mess. Dr. Stephan was halfway under a console, his sword cane nearby and that was another thing Ellis disapproved of. Not only were the scientists armed but apparently some of those scientists were allowed to carry their weapons at all times. It didn't matter at the sword cane was sheathed, it looked like nothing more than a silver-topped black cane, but it was the principle of the thing.

One of the technicians passed Stephan a crystal. He handed it back and asked for the round one instead. None of them were round and Stephan had to crawl out and pick one from the pile. It didn't seem round from Ellis's perspective but maybe it looked differently when one was under a console and perhaps nuts.

That was quickly becoming Ellis's official opinion of this entire expedition: they were all nuts. There was some time dilation out here, they'd all but admitted it, and the time between _Daedalus_ runs wasn't merely weeks. Rather he was going to be stuck out here for months with these armed and dangerous Tolkienites.

He shook off the sudden... Ellis wasn't going to call it despair. He wasn't going to acknowledge it at all. He wasn't out of his element, these people were an international group of civilians under vague command of the United States Air Force. Their chain of command was broken with the civilian head MIA and the civilian second in command AWOL, possibly gone rogue. Dr. Beckett would be the logical replacement but he was having nothing to do with commanding anything except his infirmary, to the point where he'd barricaded himself in his office for a day and a half while Dr. Zelenka pleaded outside.

That left Dr. Zelenka to handle the civilians and oversee all repairs. It didn't take a genius to realize which half of that job he spent all his energy on, getting the city up and running again was of utmost importance. At the moment half of the city didn't have power, ballast systems weren't responding and the North-West Pier kept trying to sink. The _Apollo_ was docked on the East Pier to try and balance out the city so it didn't flounder. The ZPM was unplugged to preserve power in the damaged system, naquadah generators set up in most of the labs and the inner spires to run the transporters.

At least the military command structure was unaffected, such as it was. Sheppard didn't seem to control this place at all, leaving the civilians to run wild and...

Oh. The display on one wall showed the city, large sections of it flashing red with little warning tags in some strange language. As he watched another section came back online, the warning tags disappearing and the section turning the same pleasing blue-green as the gateroom section. Several technicians cheered, leading to a smattering of applause then they all got back to work.

Still, Sheppard was leaving the civilians to run wild.

Dr. Stephan pulled himself from under the console and grabbed his cane. He pushed himself into a standing position and stood leaning on the cane like he... wait. Ellis watched as Stephan actually used that sword cane for its less violent purpose. “How did you pass physical?” Ellis demanded.

Dr. Stephan stood with his cane cocked for emphasis more than to help him stand. “Do I look military to you?” he asked.

“Andre, give it up.”

Dr. Stephan lifted his cane to tip a nonexistent hat as Lorne scolded him from the balcony.

Ellis relaxed at the familiar face. Better yet, it was someone with a familiar rank, someone who likely took that rank seriously and hadn't spent some indeterminate amount of time going native while General O'Neill padded the expedition with people who shouldn't be here. “The charade has gone too far,” Ellis declared.

Lorne simply nodded. “Walk with me, sir,” he said. And then he jumped down from the balcony, landing with nowhere near enough force on Ellis's level.

“I'm not doing that,” Ellis warned.

“Don't expect you to,” Lorne said as he led Ellis out of the gateroom. There was a nearby balcony that overlooked the damaged portion of the city. Entire spires were missing from the asteroid impact on the North-West Pier. Waves overtopped the damaged areas, flooding into the lower levels. The view gave the city an eerie feeling, the illusion that it was tilting toward that side even though every instrument said otherwise.

“The charade has gone too far,” Ellis said as soon as they were outside.

Lorne hummed as he looked out over the balcony's edge. The drop was straight down into a scorched patch, it wasn't the main weapon burn, merely a short along the main conduits resulting from the burn. “Permission to speak freely,” he said.

“Granted.”

Lorne looked Ellis in the eye. “The Ancients of the _Tria_ all had pointed ears,” he said. “McKay has a kid with furry feet. We have half a dozen engineers under 5 foot 6, none of them make weight and all of them have beards. We are in a galaxy that is terrified of open music, almost like they consider it a weapon. And to be honest, sir, the number of naturally ATA-active people here who have archery experience is uncanny. Including me. It is my personal opinion that ending the charade would be a horrible mistake and it wouldn't even be effective.”

“You don't honestly believe it?” Ellis looked like he wasn't sure to laugh or be ill.

“I don't have to, sir,” Lorne said. “The rest of Pegasus believes it, that's enough for me. If we prove them wrong the political and religious fallout would drive us from this galaxy. If we hint they're wrong no one would believe us at this point.”

“That's no reason to continue the charade here where there's no one to see,” Ellis said.

“That was General O'Neill's call,” Lorne said. “I don't think he considered the scope of his own orders.”

“He could reverse them,” Ellis offered.

“With all due respect, sir, as injured as Dr. Zelenka still is, he will fight you to keep his dwarrow and I'd put my money on him. This isn't something you control. This isn't something that can be controlled. Not anymore.”

Lorne left Ellis on the balcony. Ellis stared out over the damaged Pier, decidedly not watching as tiny figures threw ropes across a broken span between spires.

*****

Mornings were calm and cool on this world. It was the only time this world wasn't hot and windy, a drawback of having to use a world that hadn't just been a Plan B, it wasn't even considered worthy of a letter before Atlantis was forced to use this place. The science department was concerned this might be a short term world, something about a greenhouse effect, but Ellis wasn't concerned. The next few months concerned him, not the next few hundred or thousand years.

Ellis jogged through the corridors, nodding as he passed marines and airmen on similar endeavors. Even some of the scientists partook in the physical exercise, though Ellis didn't feel compelled to acknowledge them nor did they salute him in return. It was strange, like this base truly was civilian despite its mission and leadership.

He planned on hitting the weights for a few reps with the machines but as he approached he heard the sounds of someone in the main gym. He wiped his face on his own shirt and chanced a look inside.

Two people were sparring. He would have moved on with his day and ignored them but one of them was a scientist, tiny lithe Dr. Kusanagi with her Yakuza tattoo of Inari's white foxes on one shoulder. She faced down Colonel Sheppard with some kind of wooden polearm in her hands while he held two sticks.

A naginata and bantos rods, he remembered. He wiped his face with his shirt again and took the opportunity to watch.

Both attackers moved like cats, low and graceful as they circled each other. Her movements spoke of many years of training while his were more instinctual. He twirled the rods in his hands and struck, driving her back. She danced away from him, her feet barely touching the mat. His own movements had the same strange light quality, like they were less bound by gravity than normal.

And then she struck and he was put on the defensive, bringing his bantos rods up to counter the blows of her naginata as she wielded it like a staff. He dodged out of a pommel strike and she twisted below a swing at her neck. He vaulted over a hook to the shins and she sidestepped a stab to the belly. He ducked a slice to the head and she jumped over a stab at the legs, landing on his rods. But either she didn't weigh enough or Sheppard was stronger than he looked because he flipped her off of his sticks. She curled in mid-air, landing on her feet with almost no sound as she reoriented her weapon and struck again.

Dr. Kusanagi was ATA-active, a natural carrier of decent strength. Colonel Sheppard was also ATA-active, one of the strongest expressions of the gene that the SGC had in their file.

From here, with this view, Ellis could almost see why the charade was maintained. It would be hard to convince anyone these weren't elves.


	2. Dwarrow

Colonel Caldwell wore his dress uniform as he followed the guard through the Pentagon. There were some things about which he needed to talk to General O'Neill directly, no mere call could convey the seriousness.

The guard knocked on a closed door, no brass placard to betray the owner of that office. The Department of Homeworld Security was still secret and that secrecy needed to be maintained for the good of the country and the world. At least, that was the excuse.

The office looked like any other general's office. The United States flag stood in one corner, the Air Force flag in another. Ornate-looking wood covered bare windowless walls. A bronze eagle sat on the desk, caked dust betraying how little it was cared for. A phone and a laptop rounded out the desk's furnishings.

“Who's bright idea was it to antagonize the hornet's nest?!” Caldwell demanded.

The office was not unoccupied. General O'Neill looked only a little taken aback by Caldwell's outburst, like it wasn't all that weird. “Hello to you too,” O'Neill drawled. He wasn't alone. Across from him Mr. Woolsey sat, looking mildly annoyed at the interruption and yet curious.

Caldwell closed the door. “Permission to speak freely, sir?” he asked. It was not a question of military decorum, it was one of secrecy. Was this office secure?

“Granted,” O'Neill said. “So how'd the strike against the Replicators go?”

“It was a disaster,” Caldwell said. He then launched into a story, giving an abridged report on the strike against the Replicators. The planet's surface was scourged but the Replicators themselves rebuilt as though nothing had happened, striking back within a week. Atlantis suffered heavy damage and multiple casualties. Among them was Dr. Weir.

At this O'Neill got up and went to a wall cabinet. He drew back the solid wood to reveal the crystal decanter hidden there. He poured three tumblers of amber bourbon. It wasn't whiskey but it was all he had at the moment.

Mr. Woolsey was about to protest, it was midday and two of them were on duty, but quickly realized this for what it was. Instead he took the offered tumbler.

“To Dr. Weir,” O'Neill said.

“Dr. Weir.” The three men toasted the dead, or the worse than dead, and drank to her.

“What's the current situation?” O'Neill asked.

“Dr. Zelenka says 'send more dwarrow'.”

Woolsey cleared his throat and put down his tumbler, giving O'Neill a pointed look.

“Why does he want dwarves?” O'Neill asked.

“The dwarrow engineers you sent had certain specialties,” Caldwell said. “Crystalline data storage, quantum computing, non-linear programming, other weird things I won't pretend to understand. The dwarrow you sent were uniquely qualified to rebuild Atlantis from the ground up if need be.”

“So I take it the 'charade' is still in full force?” Woolsey asked dryly.

“Tell him about the _Tria_ ,” Caldwell said, grinning.

“We lived with the crew of the _Tria_ for three months,” O'Neill said, glaring at Caldwell. “They didn't have pointed ears and neither do--” He stopped himself before giving too much away.

Caldwell's grin grew fierce as he considered O'Neill himself. The man was naturally ATA-active, almost as strong as Colonel Sheppard. And while O'Neill didn't have the benefit of living on Atlantis for three years he still bore some physical effect. “I see it,” he said.

O'Neill scowled at him.

“Oh, don't worry,” Woolsey said. “Your ears are no more pointed than those of any of the Ancients we met.”

O'Neill scowled harder.

“This brings up a more pressing question,” Woolsey said, ignoring the force of O'Neill's glare as though it wasn't his fault O'Neill was in denial. “With Dr. Weir gone Atlantis will need new leadership. The IOA will take any suggestions under advisement but given this information I feel it prudent any new leader have experience with Replicator technologies. Therefore, given Dr. McKay is our most experienced civilian expert in that field, I would like to put forward his name.”

“That... might not work,” Caldwell admitted. He cleared his throat. He didn't want to say this, not the least of which because he'd put it in a report but never mentioned it in person. It was the surest way of reporting the facts while never having to explain how he ended up on Scrinia naming McKay's kid.

“Do you have any problem with Dr. McKay taking the leadership position?” Woolsey asked.

“I'm unsure about his ultimate loyalty,” Caldwell admitted.

“I can assure you, Steven, Canada's still an ally,” O'Neill drawled.

Caldwell took a deep breath and then a deep swallow of bourbon. “When Atlantis landed on M35-117 Dr. McKay ignored orders and left through the gate. To be fair, in his position I might have done the same.”

“Left through the gate.” Woolsey looked confused, as though those words had a different meaning.

“He went to a world known as Scrinia,” Caldwell said. “That's the world where his family lives.”

O'Neill and Woolsey both looked like they'd been hit by something.

“I gave the report to both the SGC and the IOA,” Caldwell said. “The Pegasus galaxy may have experienced a time dilation event between the recapture of Atlantis and the first resupply.”

“A family?” Woolsey asked, sounding something akin to terrified.

“He has a wife, a son, and a husband. From what I hear, group marriages are common.”

O'Neill went back to the cabinet and refilled his tumbler.

“There are no plans to move the family off of Scrinia,” Caldwell continued. “In fact, Dr. McKay has been spending every off-hour he gets on Scrinia with his family.”

“Are you sure it's his kid?” O'Neill asked. “If they have a husband couldn't the kid be that guy's?”

“The kid inherited Dr. McKay's fuzzy hobbit feet.”

Woolsey dropped his head on O'Neill's desk, empty tumbler held up in a silent plea.

“New plan,” O'Neill said as he answered Woolsey's plea with more bourbon. “Who else could we get to run Atlantis?”

*****

O'Neill didn't like this.

He didn't like this one bit.

He knew personal sacrifices had to be made for the good of the program, the world, and humanity across the galaxies. That didn't mean he had to like it. But the SGC agreed, and the IOA reluctantly admitted, the best person to lead Atlantis in this time of peril was the world's foremost expert on Replicator technologies and strategy.

Luckily that did not mean McKay, and not just because of any personal bias O'Neill might still harbor. The man was no longer a known quantity. In the event of a conflict between Earth and Pegasus he could no longer be trusted to make the right decision.

The second choice was also non-ideal. The IOA disliked giving a civilian project to the United States military, no matter the colonel's qualifications. But O'Neill trusted her with much more than just his life.

He didn't have to like it. But that didn't mean he had to stand in her way, either.

The cabin was cleaned, somewhat. The fish was fresh, the wine was chilled, he'd even debated candlelight. He really didn't like this.

He heard the whoosh of the transporter and knew she'd arrived.

“Hey Jack,” Carter said. She held up a grocery bag. “I brought a little something for later.”

O'Neill smiled. “Hey Sam,” he greeted. He took the bag from her hands and pulled her in for a kiss. Her lips were soft against his and he knew tonight was going to have to last as long as he could manage it.

Sam pulled away first, a look of worry in her eyes. “You cooked, what's wrong?”

O'Neill smiled. He never could keep anything hidden from her. “Let me pour us a little something and we can talk about it,” he said.

“All right,” Sam said cautiously. She headed to the living room and grew more worried. There was a fire in the fireplace. The TV was off. The place had been dusted. Something was wrong. This was worse than captivity with Woolsey after the _Tria_ affair when she had to convince him the pointed ears weren't at all noticeable, even if he did make such intriguing noises when she licked them.

O'Neill found her on the couch in front of the fire. He sat down next to her and handed her a glass of cold white wine. Sam took it. “To Atlantis,” he said.

“To Atlantis,” she echoed, tapping her glass against his in a toast. It wasn't the weirdest toast he'd ever made. The wine was sweet, the night was young, and O'Neill was worried.

O'Neill drank and looked into the wine's pale depths. It was the color of the fire, reds and oranges dancing. “You were there, you know what happened with the Replicators,” he said. “The SGC and the IOA managed to agree on a replacement for Dr. Weir.”

“That's good,” Carter said. “Who'd they pick?”

“You.”

Carter had her wine glass halfway to her mouth. It paused there before her hand dropped back down. “Me.”

“Yeah,” O'Neill said. “I told them I'd make you the offer. If you want to.”

Carter looked at the dancing flames. This was more than heading SG-1. More than overseeing construction of Midway Station. This was an opportunity to get out from under the SGC and the IOA and work unsupervised again, on all new projects in a whole new galaxy. For a moment she felt the same giddy rush of anticipation she'd felt so long ago when the dialing computer she designed worked for the first time.

“You want to,” O'Neill said. It wasn't a question.

“More than anything,” Carter admitted.

O'Neill knew that would be her answer. He knew he couldn't stand in her way. But at least they could have tonight.

*****

It was not the most ordinary briefing she'd ever had, even though Carter could predict people's words the moment they stood up. Atlantis is to be considered a frontier outpost and backup should not be expected in case Earth is busy with more important things. Atlantis is in a unique situation considering the upcoming and expected conflict with the Replicators and the ongoing guerrilla war against the Wraith. Atlantis is reliant on its native allies more than Earth ever was and this is why the charade is so important.

Dr. Jackson was against the charade on principle and in public but in private he kept looking at O'Neill and wondering.

O'Neill thought the charade was useful, at least in theory. Officially his view hadn't changed but it was growing much less funny to him as time went on.

The IOA had no opinion on the charade though individual members of the IOA did express their own private views, from sending obscure literary analyses of the Tolkien books to asking about the wine to making snide comments about elves in the military.

General Landry thought it was all a load of nonsense brought on by weird locals but he decided it wasn't his call. It was her call now.

That left Caldwell. He wasn't in the briefing, instead he was getting ready to leave. The _Daedalus_ was in orbit and Lieutenant Colonel Bishop promised he had a message from Edgeworth Station containing certain choice words. Carter managed to corner him in his quarters before he left.

“I'll see you in 18 days,” Caldwell said. He knew she'd be using Midway Station for her transfer.

“I wanted to get your opinion,” Carter said. She closed the door and leaned on it. “The charade.”

“If you try to end it Dr. Zelenka will kill you,” Caldwell said.

Carter was taken aback at how factual his statement sounded. “Not planning on it,” she said. “Why would Dr. Zelenka kill me?”

“You brought him his dwarrow,” Caldwell said. At her confusion he added to his statement. “I'm told it's the correct plural of 'dwarf'.”

Carter nodded. That made more sense.

“So... his dwarrow? Not McKay's dwarrow?”

“They're engineers,” Caldwell said as though it was obvious. Perhaps to him it was. “They all have beards, even Dr. Stewart. They're all short and they have deep voices. They sing. They're armed with interesting and fairly impressive bladed weapons. They're not above doing city maintenance and they all have hobbies where they make things with their hands. They're dwarrow and they act like it.”

Carter's nod changed, becoming something more akin to humoring the strange person with strange ideas.

“And if you can find any more, Dr. Zelenka will thank you,” Caldwell said.

“Okay,” Carter said and left Caldwell to his strangeness. For the first time she wondered exactly what she was getting into.


	3. Hobbits

The puddlejumper flew silently over the cracked red stone of Scrinia. Outside the river district the desert spread vast and sparse and sandy. Scrub trees and fat red cacti lurked among cracked and ancient lava flows. Lizards the size of iguanas sunned themselves on rocks and hid under scrub bushes, darting their tongues out to catch the lazily fluttering insects.

Below them a single giant red bird chased after a lizard. The lizard must have found a hole, leaving the bird trying to stick its beak in between the rocks.

The puddlejumper paused in its flight, slowing down as if interested in this giant red bird. It was a flightless bird, its small wings useless for carrying it through the air. Its tail was long and bony, the thick fluffy feathers doing little to disguise the balance structure beneath. The beak was huge, built for crushing bones. The talons were large, the bird showing them off by digging into the rocks after the lizard.

It was not a particularly smart bird. Several lizards had crawled out of the rocks behind it and were watching it dig. But what interested the puddlejumper was the harness the bird wore.

It was a riding bird.

*****

Major Lorne set the puddlejumper down near the birds.

There were three riding birds, all of them pale orange-red tipped in ruddy brown. Two of the birds were staked down, their harnesses tied to iron rings embedded in a reddish boulder. The third was free-roaming, able to hunt in the scrublands for the lizards it carried to its... flock? Herd? Lorne wondered if there was a better word for birds that still looked like dinosaurs to some extent. Even if those birds did flap their little wings comically while chasing prey.

Out of reach of the staked birds were saddlebags, a large blanket laid out, a couple of baskets, clothing, there was every indication of people here.

Lorne looked over his 'team' for the day. Dr. Parrish was a regular fixture on his team. Dr. Kusanagi was being tested out for Major Leonard's team. Dr. Zelenka was here because he was tired of the current situation and insisted on getting it fixed.

They were here to find Rodney and drag him back to Atlantis. But first they needed to find him. They needed directions.

“Okay, so... now what?” Parrish asked.

They'd been to the village. Rodney's wife Elena was a barmaid there, their husband Adrian raised riding birds for trade, surely Rodney would be hanging around the village. Instead they were told the three of them were out here, a day's ride west across the river on the lowest slopes of the volcano. There were hot springs out here.

“Maybe we could ask?” Lorne asked.

Parrish gave Lorne a deadpanned look and went over to one of the riding birds. “Do you know where Rodney is?” Parrish asked. The bird clicked its beak at him. “I got nothing.”

Lorne rolled his eyes. “Quit goofing off,” he scolded though there was no fire in his voice.

“Who do you suggest we ask, then?” Parrish asked.

Zelenka sighed and went back to the jumper. Miko stood outside and scanned the horizon. She could see the gentle swell of the giant shield volcano on the horizon. The entire region here was dotted with hot springs, closer to the volcano there were steam vents. Out here, this far from the heat source, the water might be cool enough for bathing. There was a path leading down a small canyon into what the puddlejumper's map suggested was a shallow wash, a dried desert riverbed. But puddlejumper maps were often simplistic. Besides, she could hear faint giggling from here. She looked down the canyon.

“We could go down and ask for directions,” Miko suggested.

“I don't particularly want to walk in on anyone hot-tubbing,” Lorne said. “Especially when we can't.”

“What?” Parrish looked as scandalized as he sounded. “Why not?”

“Do you want to explain to Sheppard why we went hot-tubbing when we should have been finding Dr. McKay?” Lorne asked. “Or ask Zelenka. He's... Hey doc, where'd you go?”

Zelenka shouted something from the jumper. It sounded rude. Or maybe he'd been around his engineers too much.

“We could do both,” Miko suggested and pointed down the canyon.

That got Zelenka out of the jumper. It also seemed to attract attention from below as the giggling changed to a splash and a woman began picking her way up the rocky path. She was nude, warm water drying on her skin in the desert sun. She carried a baby in her arms, a naked wiggling boy with curly red-blond hair on his head and... feet?

Zelenka saw her and cleared his throat as he recognized her. “Elena, dear,” he said. “You are nude.”

Elena smiled as she recognized them all. “Lanteans,” she greeted. “You are here for Rodney, then?”

“Wait, who are you?” Lorne asked.

“Rodney has a wife,” Zelenka said.

“He doesn't own me, that's barbaric,” Elena scolded. “I'm his wife.”

Miko could see the movements of Elena's mouth and throat as she spoke, the words she heard didn't match Elena's speech at all. The gate's translation must not be adequate for the moment.

Lorne put two and two together. All of Atlantis knew Dr. McKay had a wife and a husband but he'd never officially met them and that meant that must be McKay's kid and Elena was naked and... Lorne blushed.

“We are pleased to meet you,” Miko said. “But as Rodney may have said, Atlantis has suffered a great deal. We need him to return.”

“Ah, yes, the Betrayal of Colonel Ellis,” Elena said. “Rodney told that story in the amphitheater.”

Lorne opened his mouth to say something though he wasn't sure what. He never decided on what as Miko, Zelenka, and Parrish all gave him withering glares.

“Rodney will be up as soon as he and Adrian are finished enjoying each other.”

Lorne's blush reached an embarrassing heat as Parrish squeaked and Miko giggled. Zelenka was the only one unaffected as he went to the edge of the ledge and shouted down into the wash. “Je mi jedno, jestli máš pouze sperma tvého manžela, vystupte tady!”

Elena jumped and blushed. “Oh my,” she said. “Is he always like that?”

Zelenka swearing in Czech was something delightfully normal. “You get used to it,” Lorne said.

Miko blushed as she realized the gate's translations went both ways and thus Elena probably understood exactly what Dr. Zelenka said.

“Rude!” The voice shouting from the hot spring was thankfully familiar.

“Ukážu vám hrubý,” Zelenka warned.

“Dr. Zelenka, perhaps you should not,” Miko said. “There is the baby to consider.”

Zelenka looked at Miko then at Elena holding little Benito. The baby stuck out his tongue and blew a bubble. Elena, on the other hand, looked like she... Zelenka came to Miko's realization and cleared his throat. “We can wait,” he allowed.

Lorne pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to look like he was caught between laughing or screaming.

*****

Rodney wanted to hide. He wanted to hold his breath and drop under the warm mud until people left him alone. Instead he felt his face blush hotter than the hot spring while Adrian tried to keep his laughter quiet.

“It's not funny,” Rodney muttered.

“I disagree,” Adrian said, sliding his hands over spring-warmed skin. He leaned in close. “Your friend did suggest I send you up there wearing nothing but my cum. We should take him up on that.”

Rodney didn't think he could blush harder but somehow he managed. Damn Zelenka and damn the gate's translation software. He gasped as he felt Adrian's tongue on his ear. “I don't think he meant it as a challenge,” Rodney warned.

The hot spring below them bubbled up through river silt, turning this part of the dried riverbed into a warm mudpot. Rodney couldn't see Adrian's hands under the reddish surface but he could feel those deft hands sapping his resolve. Rodney slid his arms around Adrian's waist, pulling the man into his lap.

“That's it,” Adrian whispered, reaching between them. He found their cocks by feel, already brought to hardness by the heat and their hands. Rodney held on and moaned as Adrian thrust against him. “If you stayed we could do this again. Every season. The four of us. More, if you'd like. All of us.”

Rodney held back a sound as Adrian's voice caressed his ear. He could stay here. He wouldn't have to worry about Atlantis. The others could take care of the city. The humans and elves and dwarves. He wouldn't have to pretend anymore, he could stay. He was wanted here, needed, he...

“Stay with us.”

Rodney looked up and saw Elena on the ledge above them. She wasn't alone.

He couldn't stay. But maybe he didn't have to pretend either.

*****

Miko bounced Benito in her arms. The baby waved his hands at her and burbled, tongue sticking out. Elena sat on the blanket with Lorne and Zelenka, a loose dress and wide hat hiding her from the heavy orange sun. Parrish wandered the desert, pausing every few steps to look at the strange red cacti. “They're poisonous,” she warned, calling to Parrish as he reached for one of the cacti. Her warning did little to dissuade Parrish as he looked up, grinned, then went back to poking.

“Poisons are a specialty of his,” Lorne explained. “And their antidotes, of course.”

Zelenka grinned at him. “Like the red thistles.”

Lorne looked nonplussed. “I knew I was safe,” he said. “I trust David to make sure I don't do anything too stupid.”

Miko made a noise of shock as Benito squealed in glee. Lorne looked over to see what was going on and...

“Oh my,” Zelenka said.

Rodney and Adrian had towels around their waists. They'd even cleaned up in the hot water. Most of the river silt was gone, a few traces of red here and their to betray their previous activities, but that wasn't what was shocking.

Rodney ignored their shock and sat down on the blanket as though this were all normal. Elena and Adrian didn't even seem to notice or care as Rodney pulled a hairbrush from a basket and began brushing out the thick curly hair on the tops of his feet.

Lorne glanced from Rodney's feet to little Benito in Miko's arms. The kid's fuzzy feet were a well known 'fact' of Atlantis, something that was commonly dismissed as exaggeration. Like the ATA-induced pointed ears, surely they weren't as bad as other people made them out to be. But this...

“You... grew hair,” Zelenka said, voice deceptively calm.

“Hmm? Oh,” Rodney paused as though he only just noticed how strange this all was. Or perhaps how weird they all were for thinking this was strange. “I've been shaving my feet since I was five. Haven't had the chance here.”

“Yet you have shaved your face?” Miko asked, sounding hopeful.

Rodney looked confused. “I haven't found a razor on Scrinia yet,” he said. “I haven't been able to shave anything.”

Lorne looked again. Rodney's face wasn't clean-shaven, he just didn't have a beard. And his hair was longer, heck it was _curly_. Tightly ringed blond-red curls caught the orange sunlight and bounced in the desert wind. And his feet were definitely furry, the hair collecting in soft curls like the hair on his head.

Elena took Benito from a shocked Miko and sat him on the blanket. Benito patted at the ground and cooed as he sat next to his father, his own little fuzzy feet sticking out in front of him and his own curls bouncing.

“Since you were five,” Lorne repeated.

“It was that or let my father keep waxing them,” Rodney said. “He waxed his. Mother got tired of holding me down while Father ripped the hairs out. I learned how to use a razor when I was five just to get them to stop.” His voice was so calm, like it was a normal part of growing up. Only Elena and Adrian broke that illusion, both of them leaning in protectively and silently daring anyone to say anything.

Finally Rodney looked up and Lorne's blood ran cold. There was a terrible challenge there, a broken sort of pain that spoke too many volumes.

It made a horrible sense. Tolkien's works were fiction, everyone knew that. There were no such things as hobbits. Anyone who said otherwise would have had a terrible time growing up. Anyone who proved otherwise...

Lorne nodded once and he swore he saw Rodney begin to relax. He glanced at Zelenka who gave a mirthless smile then looked out toward the horizon. “How long has it been since the volcano erupted?” he asked.

“That is a story best told properly,” Elena said.

Lorne pulled a flask from his tac vest. “Then let's do this properly,” he said.

As the orange sun began to set and the moons rose the desert slowly grew comfortable again.


	4. Men

“Incoming wormhole.”

Colonel Sam Carter stood on the balcony overlooking the gateroom floor.

This was all hers. Atlantis was a mess. The North-West Pier remained closed off while the structural engineers figured out how to get the ballast systems running again. The central torus around the main spire was ruptured from Replicator weapons damage, new crystalline power cables threaded through the damaged section like bare wires made of glass. The ZPMs were currently offline, both the severely depleted one drained during the journey here and the new Replicator knockoff that had to be kept under guard to prevent overzealous engineers from disassembling it for study.

“It's McKay's IDC.”

“Lower the shield,” Carter said. She leaned forward, attempting to loom so she could properly demand answers.

Atlantis was not what she'd expected. For one thing she'd expected an intact city. This place looked and felt like it had barely survived the journey through space. After a month to prepare and repair she'd expected McKay would have the city ready for her to begin planning retaliation against the Replicators. Instead McKay was missing, gone AWOL through the gate the moment Atlantis landed. Dr. Zelenka had done his best and, really, the engineers she'd hand picked had fortunate specialties, but the city still bore too many scars.

The wormhole warbled as something stepped through. It took Carter a moment to realize what she was seeing. It wasn't Rodney. Or at least it wasn't just Rodney.

The red-feathered riding bird raised its head and squawked. It pawed at the floor with gigantic taloned feet. It had a dinosaur-like bony tail covered in long fluffy feathers and tiny wings that it flapped comically. It wore some variation of a bridle over its feathered head, the giant sharp beak draped with soft leather. Saddlebags hung from a harness that lay nestled in its red feathers. But the strangest part was its rider.

Carter could have sworn it was Rodney. But that made no sense. Even if the scuttlebutt was true and he'd gone native, she never imagined he'd fall this far.

Yet Zelenka came storming down from the transporter like he'd been summoned, swearing the whole way. He went right to the giant riding bird, shouting and pointing and Carter didn't know Czech but she could imagine the words.

The giant bird knelt down and tucked its feet underneath itself like it was going to brood the floor. And then Carter had to admit that the rider was Rodney as he unfolded himself from the saddle and, wait... She smirked. She'd have to tease him about riding sidesaddle later. Rodney snapped his fingers and pointed to the bird and Carter watched as several marines started unloading the bird, unhooking saddlebags and carrying them off. She thought she heard them talking about lizard something.

Meanwhile Zelenka kept shouting as though none of this was strange. At least Rodney began to respond, asking about 'his city' and repair schedules. He slowly built up to something Carter might have considered normal for him before he paused and called for a wormhole back to Scrinia.

“If you are thinking of fleeing again...” Zelenka warned.

“Flee nothing,” Rodney said. “I'm only borrowing this bird. Unless you want to feed it.”

The wormhole engaged. The bird stayed on the floor of the gateroom, clicking its beak and cocking its head. It stood up when Rodney made some sort of clicking sound but it wouldn't walk through the gate. At least, not until Rodney pulled a big red feather out of its tail and the riding bird ran through squawking, its tiny wings flapping comically.

Rodney stuck the fluffy red feather the length of his forearm behind his ear. “Now are we done complaining so I can see what you've done with my city?” he demanded.

“Až budete koupat. You are not coming into my labs until you smell less like bird and sulfur.”

Rodney looked affronted. “'Your labs'?!” he demanded.

“I have made them mine,” Zelenka said, grinning. “And they are my dwarrow and my elves.”

“Oh hell no,” Rodney snapped. “You are **not** taking the elves!”

Carter watched as the two of them continued arguing as they headed to the transporter. Only once they were gone did she realize Rodney was barefoot.

*****

The transporter doors closed but Zelenka didn't key in the transport to the labs. Nor did he let Rodney do it, placing his hand over the controls to prevent Rodney from pressing anything. They both knew it was a formality, the transporter would respond to ATA activation, but it still meant something. “I suppose it is too much to hope this is recent?” Zelenka asked.

Rodney crossed his arms defensively and visibly dared Zelenka to do his worst.

“You're a hobbit,” Zelenka realized. “You are a real hobbit. There are hobbits on Earth.”

“Not the same,” Rodney said.

“Does it matter?” Zelenka asked. “The ATA-active are turning into elves. I have six dwarrow, dwarves, in my engineering teams. You are a hobbit and that is not the strangest thing I've heard today.”

“Not the same,” Rodney growled. “Do you have any idea how often I had to put up with being called that?! I wasn't kidding on Scrinia, I shaved my feet until college. I was fifteen, I was small, I had furry feet. Imagine it.”

“Rodney, consider your colleagues,” Zelenka said. “Colonel Sheppard has pointed ears. Most of the ATA-active have pointed ears and have stopped cutting their hair. They are elves. I have dwarrow, actual dwarrow with beards and gemcrafting. They have found how to grow new crystals, Rodney. I have seen them singing to the crystals to make them grow better. You are not strange. Not even close.”

Rodney seemed to grow less defensive as he pondered the reality he'd returned to. Just because most of the expedition had never, or not yet, changed didn't mean they'd be as bad as... Well, as bad as those same people might have been three years prior.

“I assume your family married into height.”

“Or you're just short.”

“My dwarrow are taller than me,” Zelenka admitted. The transporter lapsed into a silence and a stench. He finally allowed the transporter to send them elsewhere. But this wasn't the corridor heading to the labs.

“Wait,” Rodney said.

“I was not kidding,” Zelenka said, shoving Rodney out of the transporter. “You stink of bird and sulfur. You will shower first.”

“Hey!” Rodney protested. He turned back to the transporter but the doors had already slid closed. When they opened again Zelenka was gone.

Rodney huffed and straightened up, a look on his face like he meant to be thrown out of a transporter. He dropped the effort once he saw nobody was around and headed to his quarters. Or, by this point, what was left of his quarters. It had been a month.

*****

Carter sat in her office. At least it was her office in principle. It still felt like Dr. Weir's office.

The desk and office chair weren't hers. The walls held curios that held no meaning to her, instead they all dripped with the memories of the previous occupant. Carter wasn't sure if she should box them all up or leave them here or some combination thereof. Packing everything away might make it seem like she was trying to take Atlantis for her own, take it from her people and from Dr. Weir's memory. But refusing to do so might be even worse, might make her seem like a weak leader.

Earth and the IOA weren't here to second-guess her decisions. A major threat lurked out beyond the horizon, one she'd faced before and come away successful. Other threats loomed as well, shadows she'd have to learn to live with and work around: the Wraith, rogue states, alliances gone bad, misunderstandings within her own ranks, a thousand other shadows she couldn't see or anticipate. The first shadows already threatened to fall over her bright future, Rodney's defection and Ronon's 'friends', and she needed to know how dark these shadows might be.

The chime on her door rang and then her door opened. Carter glanced up, hand open for a weapon, when she realized it was Sheppard. She'd summoned Sheppard herself. And that was something else to get used to, the city's overly helpful responsiveness for the ATA-active. Especially those who were...

Wow, okay, and she'd thought Jack looked elven.

“You wanted to see me?” Sheppard asked.

Carter needed a moment to take in her military lead. He'd given up cutting his hair and in the month since she last saw him he'd grown a veritable mane. All that hair did nothing to cover the pointed ears that had gone far past human variation, instead descending into something actually elven. But it was his eyes that were the weirdest. Sheppard always had strange eyes but now their color seemed to shift and change like they held some inner light.

Sheppard leaned on a wall, the orichalchum seeming less tarnished next to his skin. Or maybe it was the way the city's crystals seemed to shimmer.

Carter mentally shook herself out of the oddness. “I want your honest opinion on Ronon,” she said.

Sheppard nodded once, not standing up from his lean. Instead he relaxed into it, almost melting against the wall. “I trust him with my life,” he said. “He's a member of my team.”

“You have no concerns about his loyalty?”

Sheppard shrugged. The movement caused his balance to slide and he was forced to stand up. “Permission to speak freely.”

Carter nodded.

“Ronon's loyalty is to himself first then to us. Teyla's is to her people then to us. Rodney's is to his family then to us. Mine is to Atlantis then to Earth.”

“That's a dangerous thing to admit, Colonel.”

“If Earth is our priority out here, we're all dead. Ellis proved that.”

“Colonel Ellis was following orders.”

“And we're the ones who have to suffer for Earth's whims. Remember that.” Sheppard turned to leave.

“The gate bridge is active, Sheppard,” Carter warned. “Earth is closer than ever. Remember that.”

Sheppard paused just long enough to let her know he heard her. And then he was gone.

Carter dropped down into a chair with a long sigh. It wasn't even her chair, it was the chair that normally sat before the desk. She looked around the office again. Dr. Weir was gone and the others would have to cope. All of this stuff had to go.

*****

Carter's door chimed but didn't open. She looked up at the door but it stayed closed. The door chimed a second time.

She let out a long breath, though she wasn't sure if it was annoyance or relief. She strode over and waved a hand over the crystal interface. The door slid open.

“May I come in?” Teyla asked.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Carter said.

Carter's office was hers, it would be hers, she'd make it hers. Most of Dr. Weir's things were in boxes around the room, only a few pieces left on shelves while Carter decided what to do about them. The desk had been emptied, though she'd put the half-flask of rather potent smelling booze back where she found it in the bottom drawer. That might come in handy soon enough. The most of it, though, all sat stacked in boxes and on the chairs.

“Sorry it's a mess in here,” Carter said. “Let me clear you a chair.”

“There is no need,” Teyla said. She looked around. “You are making this space your own, I see. What token of reminder will you keep of Dr. Weir?”

Carter looked around. To be honest, she hadn't planned on keeping any of Dr. Weir's stuff. “Do you have a suggestion?” she asked diplomatically.

Teyla knelt down in front of a box and ran her fingers over the items within. “Every item here carries Dr. Weir's memory,” she said. “You should pick the one which best reminds you.”

Carter looked through the glass wall down at the gateroom floor below. A large display showed the city's status, the North-West Pier still mostly outlined in red. Dr. Stephan lay halfway under a console, a marine handing him crystal chips. She imagined she could hear someone below say 'have you tried hitting it?' in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jack. A small section red flickered to the same pleasing blue-green as the rest of the city. “I'm not sure I want to be reminded,” Carter admitted. “This was hers, all of it. I feel like I'm an invader. I knew this would be weird but... It's not what I expected.”

“Nothing is ever what we expect,” Teyla said. “Dr. Weir was a strong leader. She brought us all through many difficulties. I am sure you will do the same.”

Carter was less sure.

*****

Carter headed down to the mess hall. The hour was late, or at least that's what the meteorologists said, and the city still hadn't fully synced up with the new planet. The longer days weren't helping, there was discussion of adding a fourth shift instead of the current situation where everybody worked twelve hour shifts with no time off. She hadn't felt this run down since the Ori had Daniel.

The mess was not as empty as the hour might suggest. She guessed she wasn't the only one having a hard time with sleep. She grabbed a tray and picked out a few choice items. She avoided the lizard something and the purple pie, instead going for the wrapped sandwiches and the pudding cups.

Carter found an empty table. She wasn't halfway there when she heard a voice calling her name. She looked up to see Teyla beckoning her over. Carter put on an amiable smile and accepted.

Sheppard still looked like an elf and she was never going to get over that. He didn't even look like he was eating food, those spiky fruits were not food regardless of what everyone else said. Rodney's hair was absurdly curly and even his ears were getting pointed, it just didn't seem right. Meanwhile, Teyla and Ronon seemed to take the whole thing in stride. At least they looked human.

Although to be fair, most of the expedition still looked human. Even the ATA-active could still pass for human at first glance. Most of them, anyway.

Carter realized Teyla was looking at her expectantly. “I'm sorry, say again?” Carter asked.

“I asked if you had found a suitable token to remind you of Dr. Weir,” Teyla said.

“Oh, yes,” Carter said.

“Which one?” Ronon asked.

Carter had to think back to the object, a carved wood thing that looked like a hairy cow rearing over a ball. She described it.

“Oh, that one,” Sheppard said. “That's an interesting one. The Manarians sent it last week.”

“Then how does it belong to Dr. Weir?” Carter asked.

Sheppard shrugged.

“The Manarians invited Dr. Weir to testify against Lucius Lavin for certain... crimes,” Teyla said, her voice carefully neutral. “The Manarians sent the token even though she was already dead when his trial concluded with his execution.”

“Wait, Lucius is dead?” Rodney asked. “Why didn't I hear about this? I was on Scrinia, you'd think I'd hear these things.”

“He was executed for using dulcis to commit proimpel against Dr. Weir,” Ronon growled. “The token commemorates his method of execution.”

Rodney thought about the word for a moment. It was Ancient but it was a vulgar Ancient, something the gate wouldn't translate and... His jaw dropped as he gaped in utter horror. Ronon merely nodded and Rodney took a deep breath before pushing his tray away from him. "I think I'm done."

“What's 'proimpel'?” Sheppard asked.

“I'll tell you later,” Rodney said.

Carter looked at the team in front of her. They all seemed to know something she didn't. It was...

This, she supposed, was the real burden of leadership. The gate teams had each other. The military had each other. The scientists had each other. The dwarves and the elves had each other and Rodney looked suspiciously like a hobbit.

And Sam Carter was alone in a whole new galaxy she didn't yet understand. She'd just have to change that.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [tumblr](http://nebulousmistress.tumblr.com/) where you can find a hundred little fanfics I never posted here. Check it out, drop a line, maybe dare me to write something for you.


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